Hood paused. ‘A move may be possible.’
‘May-be isn’t good enough. If I stay here I’ll be dead before I complete half the sentence.’
Hood’s brow furrowed. ‘Why, are you under threat or something?’
‘Not at the moment, no. I’m referring to my state of health.’
‘Your health?’
‘Yes. One of the few advantages of the British penal system is that I received a full medical examination when I came in here last month. Apparently, I have diabetes – type two. They made me do the tests. And it explains the sweating and dehydration I’ve been suffering. It wasn’t picked up at Wakefield.’ He turned in his seat. ‘It’s pretty bad according to the medics. I don’t need insulin – yet. But I need a special diet and lots of exercise.’
‘There’s a gym here, isn’t there? And a five-a-side football pitch.’
‘Wrong sort of exercise, Mr Hood. I need to walk or run, not push weights about. I’m getting on a bit, you know. And I can’t run round the five- a-side pitch. There’s a fence almost on the touch line and I’d be like a hamster in a cage trotting round there. I need more space.’
Hood looked at him suspiciously. Was he pulling a stunt? There must be more to his considering cooperating than a diagnosis of diabetes, surely?
‘Would you give your consent for us to look at your medical records?’
‘I don’t see why not, if there’s some point to it?’
‘As you said, if you were to give evidence, you couldn’t stay here anyway. Too risky.’
‘My thoughts precisely. And you can have a look at the sentence as well. Vicious it was. Thirty-nine years! I don’t like being made an example of Mr Hood. After all, no-one got hurt, did they? There are double murderers in here who’ll be out before me.’
Hood smiled. ‘You could always appeal?’
‘I did. Didn’t get anywhere. Refused leave. It’s just come through. And I have no intention of dying in here.’
Hood frowned.
‘I’m finding all this a bit hard to understand, you know. You’re the last man I’d have expected to help the prosecution. There must be more to it than you’re letting on?’
Hanlon sighed deeply. ‘I have my reasons.’
‘Care to share them with me?’
Hanlon glanced at Hood then looked down.
‘Are you married Mr Hood?’
‘Why do you want to know that?’
He looked up, a pained expression on his face.
‘Don’t deny it, man. I know you’re married and have children.’
‘Well it’s hardly a state secret, I suppose.’
‘I’m not married but I have a son. You didn’t know that? I haven’t seen him for over five years. He’d be about thirteen or fourteen now.’
‘Have you? As you say, I didn’t know that.’
‘Well I have, not that I’ve been the best of fathers, you understand. His mother disappeared with him five years ago. She left a note saying she was scared of me. Not that I’d ever given her cause to be afraid of course.’
‘Most people are scared of you, aren’t they? You’re reputed to have killed people in the past, or arranged to have them killed.’
Hanlon’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘Have I, Mr Hood? That’s never been proved, now has it?’
‘That’s because no-one has ever dared to give evidence against you.’
Hanlon sniggered.
‘That’s as may be. The point is I’ve had a letter from Sean’s mother. He’s not well. In fact, he’s seriously ill. He needs a kidney transplant. It looks bad. And I’m stuck in here. I can’t do a thing to help.’
‘A visit could be arranged…’
‘She’ll not agree to that. She doesn’t want me to know where she’s living. And the boy’s too ill to travel. The worry is doing my head in, I don’t mind telling you.’
‘I don’t see what I can do about it.’
Hood thought he detected a tear forming in Hanlon’s eye. It was quickly wiped it away.
‘He needs a transplant. They haven’t found a match yet. He’s on one of them machines - what do they call them?’
‘Kidney dialysis machines?’
‘That’s it. Kidney dialysis. Every other day. The thing is, I’m his father. It’s down to me to do something. I might have diabetes, but I’m willing to give him one of my kidneys. His mother isn’t a match for him, I might be. It’s all in her letter.’
He pulled a crumpled single sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Hood. The chief inspector took it from him.
‘Go on then, look for yourself.’
Hood read the letter. It was short and to the point and badly written. He returned it to Hanlon.
‘There’s no address.’
‘No. She doesn’t want me to know where she is.’
‘How did she know you were in here?
He smiled.
‘I think it’s safe to say my case received a great deal of publicity – even back home. She got in touch with probation. They must have informed her I was in Wakefield. I got the letter when I was still in there.’
‘You think she’s still in Ireland?’
‘I don’t know. There was an Irish stamp on the envelope, but knowing Bridget, she could easily have got someone to post it in Dublin– just to put me off the scent’
‘So, if you were free to see him, how would it be arranged?’
‘I don’t really think she means I should see him. As it says in the letter, she’s more concerned about finding a suitable kidney donor. Reading between the lines, she’s hoping I’ll have the tests done, you know, to see if I could be a donor. Trouble is they won’t even consider doing the tests. I’m category ‘A’ you see. No way would they let me go to a hospital to be checked out. My solicitors have already asked them.’
Hanlon was becoming quite emotional.
‘Won’t your diabetes affect the issue?
‘I don’t know, do I? No-one will tell me.’
‘I’m no expert, but if you have been diagnosed with diabetes as you say you have, I doubt if you’d be deemed suitable for a live donor transplant. Diabetes can lead to kidney trouble, eventually. And it sounds like your condition has gone undetected for a long time, so you may well be at greater than average risk. I have an uncle with Type Two. He’s well over seventy now, but he’s having kidney problems as a direct result of his diabetes.’
‘So – there’s nothing I can do?’
‘I’ll ask them to check it out for you. You’re entitled to that, whatever you may have done in the past. I would have thought it possible to do some of the tests here.’
‘Thanks. That’s very decent of you, but if my diabetes is a factor, I can’t see that happening. They reckon my kidneys have been damaged - not exactly shot to pieces – at least not yet; and they reckon I’ll be on the insulin soon.’
‘Is that definite?’
‘Highly likely I’m told. They’ve held off for the time being but they say it’s looking inevitable. And I hate injections!’
Neither man spoke for some time. Then Hanlon broached the subject of giving evidence again. He looked down as he spoke.
‘So you see, Mr Hood. There’s no way I’ll survive long enough to finish my sentence.’ He looked away briefly. ‘Would there be a chance of early parole if I assisted you with the Hamilton woman? I couldn’t bear it if I never have the chance of seeing Sean again, whatever his mother says. I don’t know how I’d arrange it, but he’s been asking for me apparently. And Bridget’s prepared to keep in touch through probation. So at least there’s a link.’
Hood paused. He was surprised that he found himself almost sympathising with this man who had wrought so much pain and destruction to others without a moment’s consideration for anyone but himself. Then he remembered some o
f the details of Hanlon’s activities and his fellow feeling evaporated.
‘As I told you, sentence considerations are above my pay grade, but I can take it back and see what they say. A lot would depend on what you’re prepared to tell us – and repeat from the witness box.’
Hanlon smiled.
‘Let me put it like this. What I know would put Julia Hamilton away for a long time. And as for that fella of hers, Michael Doyle, don’t think I don’t know who fingered Duffy in the first place.’
Hood was concerned that the subject of Doyle had been raised again. He did his best to put Hanlon off track.
‘Doyle? He didn’t know Duffy, did he?’
‘Don’t come that with me, Mr Hood. Of course he did. And you let him out of the kidnap conspiracy didn’t you? Big mistake that, Mr Hood. Big mistake. Who do you think put Julia Hamilton up to it?’
‘But the call to police HQ? Duffy made a call to police HQ as good as telling us where Mrs Campion could be found. Doyle would hardly be responsible for that?’
‘Of course he wasn’t. Gus was. I told you, Duffy did as he was told – as he always did. Gus never had any intention of letting Doyle get out.’ He laughed. ‘That wasn’t the idea at all. The object of the exercise was to make sure he stayed in - permanently! Gus went along with Hamilton’s plan, but he never intended it to lead to Doyle’s release.’ He shook his head and looked down. ‘But it all backfired. Because someone told you who Duffy was. And that someone was not old Gus. No way! It must have been Doyle. It couldn’t have been anyone else.’
Hood was careful to give nothing away. At least Hanlon had confirmed what he’d always thought – that Hamilton had approached Grayling to put her plan into action and Grayling had then double-crossed her in an attempt to frame Doyle. Revenge – that was Grayling’s motive. Pure and simple.
‘So what had Doyle done to deserve that? I’d always thought he and Grayling were friends. They were both implicated in a huge mortgage fraud some years back, not that the prosecution got anywhere. But it did affect Doyle’s creditworthiness. The banks wouldn’t touch him. That’s why he turned to Grayling for help. They must have been very close for Grayling to lend him what he did?’
‘They used to be close, but they fell out, big time. I don’t know the details. I wasn’t in the UK at the time. You know what they say, Mr Hood? “Where friendship falters, hatred will often force a way”.’
Hood recognised the quotation.
‘That’s Dickens isn’t it – Oliver Twist, if I’m not mistaken?’
‘That’s right. I’ve just finished reading it. I’ve nothing else to do in here. I’m planning to read his complete works, if I can get hold of everything. I’ve got plenty of time on my hands, after all.’
Hood smiled.
‘Monks, wasn’t it? Oliver’s half-brother?’
‘That’s right! Just after he’d been exposed. Not unlike my position, eh, Mr Hood?’
He smiled indulgently.
Hood nodded.
‘And you giving evidence against Julia Hamilton would finish the job, would it? Now that Grayling’s no longer around.’
‘I don’t think it would affect Doyle, directly – too late for that – but it wouldn’t half piss him off if she went down for the duration. He’s completely obsessed with her you know. We all knew that – Gus included. Mind you, she’s a good looking woman by all accounts. And what really gets to me is, he’ll be out before I’ve completed a third of my time.’
‘What about her? How does she feel about him?’
‘A good question, Mr Hood. And not one I would care to answer. All I know is – never trust a woman with looks like hers. They’re always trouble. That’s always been my watchword. And Doyle’s a fool if he doesn’t understand that. I wouldn’t trust her an inch. She makes Lady Macbeth look like one of the Sisters of Charity, that one. She’s deadly.’ He sat back and looked directly at Hood. ‘You see, nobody’s going to persuade me that Doyle isn’t the informer – and he’ll get his reward in due course. A bloody great cut in his sentence.’
‘But he got the full whack from the judge, didn’t he? Fifteen years. Doesn’t look to me as if he gave anything away. He only pleaded to make sure Julia Hamilton didn’t get pulled into the robbery investigation. As you say, he’s obsessed with her.’
Hanlon smiled, pushed his chair back and stretched out his legs.
‘That’s the difference between Doyle and Duffy. Doyle has half a brain. He’d not go for a reduction in his sentence and advertise to the world he’d done a deal with the police - like Duffy did. He’ll be prepared to wait – you know, until things calm down a bit. Then he’ll be looking for some recognition for his assistance. He’ll slip out quietly, years before any of the others. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you Mr Hood?’
Hood shook his head.
‘I think you’re barking up the wrong tree there.’
Hanlon grinned. ‘Am I?’ He turned away and sneered. ‘I don’t think so. We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we? But you mark my words. Doyle’s the grass. As for Duffy, his card’s been well and truly marked. I shouldn’t be surprised if he meets with a nasty accident sometime soon.’
‘But you were caught trying to rob a security van on the Ollerton Road. Doyle can’t have known anything about that and Duffy was in on it. He’d hardly have given the game away.’
‘I’m not talking about that!’ snapped Hanlon. ‘I’m not saying he dropped us in on that. That’s down to someone else. And when I find out who it was…’
‘Is that a threat?’
Hanlon shook his head.
‘Not at all. What could I do, stuck in here? And in my state of health? But you know as well as I do what happens to grasses – they get cut down - Doyle and Duffy both. And whoever informed on us for the Ollerton job, he’ll not escape either. I don’t suppose you’re going to let me in on who that was, Mr Hood?’
‘You know the score. We never reveal our sources. And you shouldn’t overlook that we sometimes pre-empt serious offending through good police work.’
Hanlon laughed.
‘Don’t give me that Mr Hood. You know as well as I do, someone informed on us in respect of the Ollerton road job. And it wasn’t Doyle and it wasn’t Duffy. Mind you, Duffy could have kept his trap shut. He’ll pay for that, I shouldn’t wonder. Not that it would have anything to do with me, you understand. But once it gets around – and it will.’
Hood showed a modicum of concern. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Mr Hanlon. Of course, if anything were to happen to either Duffy or Doyle or anyone else, I doubt it would help your cause. I suspect the authorities might well think you had something to do with it. I would put the word out if I were you. You know, just in case anyone should get the wrong idea.’
‘And I’ll bear in mind what you say, Mr Hood. I really will.’
There was a knock on the door. It opened and one of the prison warders hesitated at the threshold.
‘Everything OK? I heard raised voices.’
‘Nothing to concern yourself about,’ said Hood, ‘We’re almost done.’
The warder nodded, withdrew and closed the door.
‘Well, what’s it to be?’ asked Hood.
‘You check out Hamilton. If we can do some sort of deal, I’ll think about it. And one more thing, Mr Hood. Don’t you go thinking she did all this for Doyle. Women like her have only one interest - themselves. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if she wanted to make sure that Doyle stayed inside too. You check that out. Something tells me she wasn’t that keen on continuing her relationship with Doyle. And for good reason too.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
Hanlon turned away.
‘I think I’ve said enough. We’d better call it a day, before I say something I shouldn’t.’
Chapter Seven
Late January 2000
Harold Cronshaw QC was not amused. Neither was his clerk. He had accepted instructions to prosecute Julia Hamilton on the basis that he would lead for the Crown. He’d heard the rumours of course, but had given them little credence as the date for the trial drew closer. There had been similar rumours in the previous case. When it became known that the Lord Chief Justice was to preside, everyone expected that the then Attorney-General would appear for the Crown. After all, blackmailing a judge by taking his wife and son hostage was unprecedented. But the Attorney was perfectly content for Cronshaw to deal with it. They spoke together several times but he didn’t intrude. He was very careful to ensure there was not the semblance of a suggestion of political interference.
But that was then. Things had changed. Now, he was officially informed that the new Attorney-General was taking over the case. And with only six weeks to go before the jury was sworn. He had received the letter three days before and had laid it out on his desk for his clerk to inspect. The personal call from the Attorney that morning re-assuring him that the two of them would form the ‘perfect team’ hadn’t helped either. He didn’t like some of his ideas as to how the case should be conducted. His old friend, who had held the position of Attorney since 1997, had recently been sacked in a government reshuffle and replaced by this younger more enthusiastic politician who wasn’t even in silk until that distinction had been conferred upon him on his appointment. An artificial silk. That’s what he was. And Cronshaw had always disapproved of this abuse of the system, although it had happened before and would no doubt happen again.
The Attorney had already confessed in the second paragraph of his letter and over the phone that he would be relying on Cronshaw to do the bulk of the work. He had other commitments as Attorney-General and would not be able to give his full attention to the trial. For his part, Cronshaw hoped he would either think better of it or at least restrict himself to opening the case to the jury and then withdrawing, leaving the important advocacy to him. After all, that would merely require him to read the opening which Cronshaw would prepare and he would get his name in the newspapers which was, no doubt, the principal object of the exercise. Otherwise, Cronshaw had half-decided, he would simply return the brief. He was not prepared to play second fiddle in such a serious trial.
A Private and Convenient Place Page 6